This is it

Chasing peace. Finding it, loving it. I dabbled in the whole "going out" thing at the beginning of this year. It exhausted me so fast, depleted my entire source of energy (and between cab rides and general spending, my money too!) after one month. It's not who I am, not anywhere near who I want to be. The same way a party girl needs to run away for a weekend to relax... color me the compliment. That is exactly what I'm not.

Give me sunlight, give me warm nights, give me long walks, give me conversation. I realized just how much I love a good conversation, even if its about nothing, or everything, or all in between. I could sit on a stoop or a rooftop for hours and have the time of my life. Who needs those distractions? Who needs to be stimulated with mindlessness, just to have an excuse for friendship?

When I was asked to bartend for a design event this weekend past, I laughed at where I found myself at the end of the shift. I kept neglecting the bar in search for conversations. Alcohol can't have the spotlight; it needs to play in the shadows, lubricate the way for passion. If I can't feel them in your words, why are we even talking? Why are you drinking? What are you hiding?

Life Keeps Bringing Me Back To You

I had to light a cigarette for this one, Heart please forgive me.

I've been shedding skins. I know how temporary this surge of confidence will be, but it's a different shade, and it's not as desperate.

We've come full circle. I'm learing to let a lot of things go. The Come-What-May attitude I once cherished as my best feature (before Singledom and Infatuation and Love and Rent came circling around me with its posse of Defeat) is starting to work off her fatty layers of complacency. She got lazy, she got comfortable, and she got unhappy whenever she caught herself in the mirror. She's looking good again.

There's only one person who is able to send me spiraling back into that mess now, and I've decided to distance myself from him for good, no matter how well-intended his heart may be. We're just not right for each other, and I'm still too insecure to be able to take the reins. I haven't learned enough. He hasn't learned at all.

I'm not too worried, though. I'll see him again when Fate deems us ready. She always seems to think we are. Grin.

Even my writing has settled into this contentment. It's not overflowing with desperate, eager truth. I was so surrounded by uncertainty and insecurity for the past year and a half, maybe longer, that I was trying to create my own world of honesty -- if only to remind myself that I needed to have faith in something. If truth was my religion, why was I suddenly so unfamiliar with it? Why did I need it so badly? I'd lost respect for a lot of people that I thought were trustworthy, selfless, as open with me as I was with them. I figured it was reciprocal. I assume too much.

I used to write so differently. My voice changed into something I couldn't recognize, and it took a lot of fighting with myself to get here. I wasn't meant to be complacent. Will power is a muscle, and I gave up as soon as my arms started shaking under the weight. As much as I talk about progression and growth, I'm not surprised that underneath the surface, I was easily disheartened at the plateaus. I realized that I needed constant support, constant pushing, and that I relied too much on the wind at my back to propel me forward. I could climb easy, it's the walking that made me tired. When I found myself surrounded by dead air, I was at a loss. My mistake.

I've put the cigarette out. I'm still secretly glad that my lungs and body are rebelling against them. I hope I never lose the communication I have between my inner midget and myself, she is intensely in touch with my emotion and feelings. I just have to develop the connection between those things and, I don't know, concept. Action. Common sense. Logic. Feeling all the time and knowing exactly what word to place on that feeling is one thing, but how long can you read a story without a plot?

As much as writers like to believe that we transcend all planes of ordinary and stereotype, what are we really if all we do is label shit?

Cusp War

I've spent way too much time being a Cancer.

I think the Leo is ready to step back in. She's tired of this whole thing. It was an experiment, and I'm much more comfortable in a steady state of confidence. I am not a quiet, passive homebody. I am the doo-doo. Somewhere along the line, I forgot that. Boy am I glad to be back.

Mind Sex

Pardon me love but you seem like my type
What you doin tonight? you should stop by the site
We could, roll some weed play some records and talk
I got a fly spot downtown brooklyn, new york
Now I know you think I wanna fuck, no doubt
But tonight well try a different route, how bout we start
With a salad, a fresh bed of lettuce with croutons
Later we can play a game of chess on the futon
See I aint got to get in your blouse
Its your eye contact, that be getting me aroused
When you show me your mind, it make me wanna show you mines
Reflecting my light, when it shines, just takin our time
Before the nights through, we could get physical too
I aint tryin to say I dont wanna fuck, cause I do
But for me boo, makin love is just as much mental
I like to know what Im gettin into

My nipples tingled when I first read this verse, before I even heard the insanely sensual beat it came attached to. What power music has over me. My ears are the windows to my soul, feeding me just makes me greedy.

I realized why I have such a fondness for talent (in its different forms), and the tendency to push someone into pursuing their passion (to an obnoxious point, I admit - I half-heartedly apologize). I like it when people expose themselves through expression too. I like it when they need to. We relate.

This is why I can't do my art, whether it be my writing or my drawing, commercially. It's still an expression to me. It's for you to find out what it means, not to tell me what to make it.

Listen to Parachute by Sean Lennon. It's nice.

So this IS a real holiday

It's been a while since sex and no sleep had me this happy. I had a nice morning. Good weather, mild traffic, passenger's side, coffee. Got dropped off at work much earlier than my normal time of (late), I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes. I smell like a night's worth of effort, regardless of the shower I took. It's embedded in the fibers. LOL. Preens.

This would be my first non-obligatory VDay (it is a bit different when you're in a relationship, after all; translate that how you will)... and, though anyone else might consider my Thursday a very normal -- if not cliched -- Valentine's Day, for me it was a whole bunch of firsts. First time getting flowers and chocolates sent to me at work. First time actually getting wined and dined in somewhere that's not a glorified diner. Among a few other firsts (jacuzzis, sharpies, and Jersey, ha!) I really have to say - now THIS is what effort looks like! Man.

Sipping with the eyes closed

Had a hazelnut cappucino last night. The foam on top was crispy, tasteless. When you blew on it, the holes got bigger. The perfect amount of milk and raw sugar. My ears closed after I slipped into the first mouthful. The ever-present screen of voices fell; my eyelids followed suit and I just smiled for a very, very long time. I love it when a simple cup of joe turns into an all absorbing experience.